


Life is bitter on the tounge.

by Anonymous



Category: Frühlings Erwachen | Spring Awakening - Frank Wedekind, Spring Awakening - Sheik/Sater
Genre: Canon Era, Character Death, Character Study
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-14 00:28:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28912347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Alternate timeline were Ilse dies at Priapia before finding Moritz in the forest. Explores how this effects four of the main characters.  Title taken from the play.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 2
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Life is bitter on the tounge.

As bright as an opera house. As high as a tower and as bright as an opera house.

The Priapa group was imperfect, but so was she. 

These are the things that she thinks to herself on a daily basis. These are the thoughts that come back as she lays in the snow. 

She had gotten too drunk. There was no one to look out for her and to catch her as she fell. None of the group was sober enough to realize she was missing, let alone try to find her. She was near death, and she knew it. She didn't move from the snow into the house mere feet away. Was it because she couldn't, or because she didn't want to? She didn't know.

She spent the more exciting of her days wandering the streets and getting arrested with her friends. She didn't sleep those days. 

The remainder of her time was spent in an apartment. A house. A closet. There was a mirror set into the ceiling. She laid on her back and stared at herself. She imagined many scenarios for herself; in most, she was a child again. She was happy with her family. The people she imagined were not the same people who raised her.

The sun had begun setting the last time her eyes were open. Now it was dark and all she could see was the bright shining moon.

She had gotten past the worst of it. She was no longer cold, now only numb. All numb. She felt happier now than she had in a long time.

Her eyes open and shut but her thoughts were constant. Her funeral. Who would attend? 

Her family? Of course. They sent her away but continued to act as if they still loved and cared for her. They probably wouldn't even get her a headstone. But who was she to complain and dictate her parents spending? She was dead.

Her friends? Certainly. They grew up together. They played pirates and made snow angels. Those were memories she refused to forget, even in death.

Thoughts began to fade further into the back of her mind. Peace was all she felt now.

Life is bitter on the tongue.


	2. Life is a matter of taste.

The sun was setting and his moment was approaching. 

The trees around him provided some shelter and privacy from the world he was so desperate to escape. 

He was a failure. In the eyes of his father, the school, the town, and now his own. He had no other option. He drew the pistol from his pocket and stared up at the sky.

What will he tell them? What will he say? No parting words he could come up with seemed significant enough for this moment. 

He missed his friends. They played pirates and made snow angels. Those were memories he refused to forget.

Lately, all he felt was sadness. He couldn't bear to feel that anymore. 

That sun had set and the moon was coming out from behind the clouds. A gust of wind came over him and he welcomed it. It was cold but it was something to distract him from his inevitable future. 

"Moritz!"

The sudden voice, even as familiar as it was, should have shocked and scared him to his core. Instead, he had an overwhelming feeling of peace and safety. He turned in the direction of the voice. 

"Ilse!"

She was a ghost, and for some unexplainable reason, he just knew that. She wasn't opaque, glowing, or floating. He just knew.

She was clearly worried. She slowly walked over to him, sat down, and put her hand on his shoulder.

"Moritz, please don't do this. Death isn't all it's made out to be. Truly, you are better off here."

He just stared at her. What was he supposed to say to that? Death was his only way out, but how was he going to do it now, with this new information forever burned into his brain.

He didn't want to die. He just wanted to escape, and escape was standing right there, offering him her hand.

She smiled and politely held out her hand for his gun. He frowned and stared at the ground in shame. He didn't look up, but he held out his hand and gave it to her. 

With no instruction, they both stand up, hold each other's hands, and walked into the distance.

The sun had set.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna be perfectly honest... this is really bad.


	3. Life has turned its cold shoulder to me.

Could he do this? He had to, of course, he could.

Wendla had written him a letter informing him of what her mother had told her and the unexpected result of the hayloft. He immediately sat down to write her a letter back. The letter would never reach her.

It was Thea who told him.

"She was anemic."

She wasn't, he knew the truth. What good could the truth do him now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is short but there is little to say about this portion of the story that hasn't already been said. Ironic.


	4. Life is a worthless commonplace.

The last thing she remembers is screaming. It wasn't to anyone in particular, simply an expression of her entire world seeming to crumble right before her eyes, coupled with the pain she was feeling. 

She hated being kept in the dark. She wanted to know about the world around her, but the world around her wouldn't tell her. Just as things began to make sense, something new would happen that would cause it all to come crashing down.

It was like she putting a puzzle together, just a soon as she put a piece in, another would disappear. 

Her were eyes open now, metaphorically and literally. She had woken up dead, next to Ilse singing a song she remembered from their childhood. She was dead and that was clear by her surroundings, even more so seeing Ilse for the first time since she snuck away to her funeral and saw her in a casket.

She knew how she died, just as she knew who to blame. Her mother brought her screaming into this world, she would take her the same way. What more did she know how to do? 


End file.
